


Where My Loyalties Lie.

by PetiteElite



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 01:42:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetiteElite/pseuds/PetiteElite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our beastly heroes of Beacon Hills have managed to stave off the alpha pack and the sinister, manipulative Jennifer Blake, But when new secrets are revealed to the pack, tensions rise and lines are officially formed. One particular piece of information hits close to home for Stiles and Scott, as they must protect a dear childhood friend who is sought after by werewolves and hunters alike....</p>
<p> I hope you enjoy it, and if you do, maybe give a review or something like that! Thank you guys for checking it out!!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Deaton, are you sure?" Peter Hale bristled.

The doctor didn't look up from his work.

"I assure you Mister Hale, I wouldn't have said it if it weren't true."

Scott shifted his weight around, trying to process the new load of dangerous information his boss had just thrown onto him.

"So, wait." He started.

"Deucalion has a _daughter_?" Isaac muttered incredulously.

The people in the room transformed from rigid, stiff bodies to defeated and tired ones. Stiles collapsed in a chair, Allison's shoulders slumped, and Derek's eyes went vacant.

"I don't think this town has room for demon wolf offspring." Peter spat, standing again to pace.

"That's not entirely true." Deaton replied cryptically.

Peter glanced at him before surveying the others. Just like him, they were worn and run down from fighting the alphas, Jennifer Blake in tow. If the doctor did concoct some sort of plan, it would be the only one they had. Peter sighed deeply before motioning Deaton to continue.

"I'm listening."

"Good. Because what I'm about to tell you is a very complex and elaborate operation that requires every detail be followed to the tee."

He locked eyes with everyone gathered around the cold steel surgical table to show how gravely serious he was. He had their attention.

"Remember how I said there is one true alpha every hundred years, Scott?" The wise man asked.

Scott nodded, as there was no way he could forget.

"You and Derek agreed that you would control the pack jointly, that's correct?

The young leader nodded once again.

"Well, like the Druids, every young werewolf has a choice; to grow into something so much bigger than themselves, rising up to protect the pack. Those are the Alphas. The Betas, the usually loyal members of the clan, work together to strengthen the pack, and support the Alpha. Or the wolf chooses to fall behind, ride on the tails of the pack, and eventually fade away. The Omegas. "

"Yes, we get that, but what does it have to do with Deucalion's kid?" Stiles sputtered, his words rife with frustration.

"There is one more classification, lesser known and more legendary than even a true alpha." Deaton's voice resonated with a hint of awe, and he enunciated each syllable carefully.

"There are those, who are birthed from the filth and desecration of the pack, who not only rise above their outcast status to become a powerful alpha themselves, but also become leaders that are known throughout history."

"That sounds like a true alpha to me." Allison chided.

He shook his head slightly "No, you misunderstand. These wolves may be alphas, but they pledge their loyalty to the leader, or in this case, _leaders_ , of a pack of their choosing, for life. These are the Emissaries."

He grabbed a few bottles and began to tidy the room as he finished.

"Jennifer Blake was an Emissary to Kali, and she ended up impaling her with a few hundred pieces of glass. Loyalty doesn't seem to be at the top of the list when it comes to self-preservation." Derek muttered bitterly.

"I understand where you come from with that thought, Derek, but she was a self-appointed emissary. She was just another expendable part of the pack until it truly came down to life or death. I'm talking about a real Emissary. They have one pack and one pack only, their family, and they would do anything to protect the other members. Even if that means laying down their lives for their alpha in a heartbeat, Even if that means, never getting to say goodbye one last time. That, is the true duty of a proper Emissary."

Without another word, he turned from the group and began restocking the shelves with canine heartworm medication, leaving them to wonder what exactly he was hinting at.

"Doc, this has all been dandy, with the history lesson and all, but what _is_ the _point_?" Stiles rasped out, exasperated.

"I'm sorry?" Deaton turned suddenly, as if the question had brought him out of his own thoughts.

Stiles eyed him intensely for a moment, shaking his head.

"I need more Adderall, because this …" he trailed off, motioning the air about the tightly packed room furiously.

"This is nuts…" he stood up and left the room to retrieve his medication.

"To answer Mr. Stilinsky's question, I told you all this because indeed, Deucalion's child is an Emissary. She has the power to unify your pack, Scott, to make it feel whole. She's rough around the edges, but all she needs is someone who can believe in her and a pack to love, and lover her, unconditionally."

Deaton finished and stared into the faces of the werewolf pack.

Scott took a breath and turned to Derek. Derek tensed up, his eyes narrowing to slits.

"No. Absolutely not, Scott." He growled from deep in his chest.

"Derek-"Scott started.

"I said no! Are you trying to put our entire pack, OUR family at risk? This is the spawn of a demon wolf, not some little scrappy omega you brought home from the woods."

Derek's fist hit the table, causing everyone, including himself, to jump.

"Derek." Cora, who hadn't spoken at all since their departure from home, stroked his arm soothingly.

"You would have done it for me." She pleaded quietly.

"You did do it for me. I could have been anything after eight years. A murderer. An uncontrollable monster."

Derek shut his eyes tightly, as if he could bar his sister's words of reason from his mind this way.

"You did it for me." She repeated. This time the words hung there, as if nailed to his ears, and positively digging at the very seams of his soul.

"Okay."

It came out more as a broken whisper. He nodded to Scott without meeting his eyes, he couldn't. If something ever happened to Scott, he wouldn't know what to do. He was like family to Derek, just like the rest of the group, even Lydia, Stiles and Allison. His only family, he wouldn't allow someone to destroy that.

Scott looked to Deaton and nodded.

"Okay." Scott echoed Derek.

"Please trust me on this." The Doctor insisted.

"Abbey had been taking the child to me for medical care since she and Deucalion welcomed her to the world. Up until Abbey passed, that is." He rubbed his forehead.

"Her mom is gone? Isaac's voiced piped up.

"Yes, cancer took Abbey, unfortunately. The girl took it as any 8 year old child would, She was distraught and confused, but she learned to handle it… better than most. I see her every now and again, but it just isn't enough. It will soon be time for her to find a pack to call her own, and she shouldn't face it alone."

He concluded, but it was blatant that there was more on his mind. Everyone needed time to digest the information that had just been presented, but Scott had just one more thing he needed to know before proceeding in Deaton's plan.

"Who is she?" he asked.

"It's going to come as a bit of a shock to you, Scott. Are you sure you want to know?" His eyes squinted at him in uncertainty.

"I have to know." Scott replied without skipping a beat. He was an alpha now, he had to be prepared no matter what surprises came.

"Her name, is Octavia Morgan. She attends Beacon Hills High school alongside you, Lydia, Stiles, Allison and Isaac, but she's 2 grades behind you, and she has no idea what she, or her father, stands for." He said heavily.

Scott and Stiles' eyes locked. They _knew_ Octavia. Ever since she was in kindergarten, she would hold the doors for everybody coming in from recess. She was especially sweet to Stiles, because she knew he had a hard time with panic attacks, and she always had a soft spot for Scott as well. Even up to this day, it was her who held the doors for the students of Beacon Hills, and on the rare days they'd noticed her, the boys were always prompted by the sweetest smile and a genuine "Good morning.", to which they always replied back "Good morning, Olive!" Her name, Octavia, which Scott and Stiles agreed earlier seemed more like an evil villain's name, was the only thing given to her by her estranged father who left years before. Scott felt such an ugly name didn't fit a cute little girl, so instead, he and Stiles settled on the nickname, Olive.

They broke eye contact, and the memories of Octavia Morgan subsided and crawled back into the small space where they belonged, and when their eyes met once again, it wasn't to share memories, but instead to convey a message

" _You'll keep her safe, won't you Scott?"_ Stiles' eyes pleaded desperately with Scott's.

In return Scott gave a terse yet precise nod, assuring Stiles that no harm would come to Octavia. Deaton sent everyone home, as it was 12:50 in the morning. As Scott made his way toward the Jeep where he knew the other half of the awkward duo would be waiting.

"You can trust it, Stiles." Scott said after standing several minutes in the rain.

He looked at his best friend, slightly puzzled.

"Trust what?" He asked

"I'll keep her safe."

"You can trust my word."


	2. Chance Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you guys like it! This is the first fanfic I've put on the internet, so if you do, maybe leave me a Kudos so I know I'm doing my job right!

Tension is a funny thing. Even if you leave the room and go outside where its buckets of rain, the tension doesn’t just wash off with the drops running down the back of your neck. No, instead it only intensifies. 

Derek watched Scott talk quietly with his lanky best friend in the rain. He leaned against his Camaro, waiting for Cora to finish some conversation with Allison. He didn’t like this… there was no reason to let the offspring of their greatest adversary yet, walk right into the pack and destroy them one by one. Maybe Scott was willing to let it happen, but not him. Not Derek Hale.

“Ready to go, Derek?” Cora called, obviously getting agitated by the incessant chatter Isaac and Allison seemed to keep a steady and endless supply of.  He glanced back at her and nodded before assuming the driver’s seat, and promptly speeding off after the passenger door swung shut.

“He’s a real jerk sometimes.” Scott said absently.

“Yeah he is!” Stiles yelled, breaking him from his stupor.

“So, Scott. In need of a ride home?” He asked, bouncing himself into the seat, using the wheel as support.

“Actually, ah, no... I have something I need to do.” Scott waved him off.

“At three in the morning, you have something to do … at three in the—“

Scott shot him a look.

“Okay man, easy. Werewolf stuff” Stiles said dropping the subject completely, and returning focus to the keys in the ignition. He waved one more time as Scott ran into the fog filled woods.

 

    Scott reached his destination quickly, but not quick enough to escape the rain. He was soaked and chilled to the bone when he walked up to the little diner. It was called Xandra’s and was the only place in Beacon Hills where you could get a decent cup of black coffee, straight, none of the nauseating, sugary, creamy stuff that Allison and Isaac drank. Fresh, hot, black coffee.

When Scott entered, the little bell rang, and Miss Xandra Collins came to greet him herself.

“Little Scott McCall… Why, I haven’t seen you in years!” She said kissing him on the cheek.

He smiled at her through his chattering teeth, and waited for his seat.

 The diner was empty, and still she showed him to his regular booth in the corner, where his mother and father would take him by the hand, and tell wild stories of Miss Xandra and her crazy adventures “In her younger days...”  It was different now, though. There was no dad take him fishing and then back to the diner where they would slurp down milkshakes and play Tick Tack Toe. There was no mom, who could lead him to this very booth, and smile at him so fully and happily it shone in her big brown eyes. It was just Scott, and his little booth in the corner.

He was cold. He was wet. He was tired. 

“ _What the hell am I even doing here?_ ” He thought. 

       It was true, he had no reason to be there. He should have been at home, already showered, and crawling into his warm bed, but he was already there, and the prospect of going back outside without having at least one cup of coffee would be more than disappointing, so instead he sat at the table and waited. He was still shivering and his hair was dripping by the time the unusually short waitress made her way to the booth, a pot of house brew in hand. Scott only saw her out of the corner at first because he could barely move, but after hearing her little voice, he had to confirm what he had just heard.

 

          “Hey there, my name is Octavia, and I’ll be serving you tonight. Is there something you wanted to drink, sir?”

He turned his body rigidly to face the young hostess, and yes, sure enough, it was really her after all.

“Good Morning, Olive.” The words came out but they sounded so wrong, so deflated and lacking after the night he’d had.

“O-Oh Scott? Scott McCall! How are you?” She asked, and as always, she really did want to know.

“A-ah, I-I’m great-t actually.” The young alpha replied.

He wanted to mean it, just for her. Just so she wouldn’t worry, but it was already too late for that. She was already on the other side of the booth, grasping his icy, shaking hands, and looking into those tired eyes through a tangled and dripping head of hair. 

“Scott, you’re soaked! Are you okay, Hun?”  

Her bold eyebrows arched up in concern, just like they did when someone was mean to him on the playground, and nobody was around to talk about it. Nobody except her. 

Scott looked her in the face. He considered lying, Olive wasn’t ever one to pry, but she could tell when you were lying to her, and nobody ever felt good about it afterwards. So instead he just stared at her, and when there was nothing good enough to be said, he looked back down.

She intertwined her small, delicate hand with one of his and she used the other to pour him a cup of coffee. He marveled at how very petite she was, how big the coffee pot looked in her hands. He didn’t feel like talking, even to Olive, so they just sat there, cup after cup of coffee, hour after hour of those soft delicate hands soothingly stroking his hair, his face, gently patting his back, until he was lulled to sleep, his hand still on the coffee mug.

 

Scott awoke with quite the serious pain in his neck. Literally. He dragged his head up, and it felt like a ton of bricks. His eyes also ached and he felt a little hung over. He didn’t actually realize what was under his head until the artificial candy colored red of the table top stared him in the face. What had happened last night? Oh, right. He’d made a complete ass of himself in front of Olive. He didn’t even actually talk to her, how was he going to integrate her into the pack? He rubbed his face with his hands.

“Rough night, huh?” 

The voice was closer than he thought, Scott jumped.

It was Olive, her crinkled uniform and slightly mussed hair a clear indicator she never went home, and was still watching over him while he slept. 

Scott opened his mouth to apologize but she waved it off.

“What sort of friend would I be if I just left you alone? No. That isn’t right.” She shook her head.

“Look, Olive, I’m really sorry about all this. I’ve caused you enough trouble for one night. I should go.”  He said and started to stand up, shivering from his slightly damp clothing.

“Do at least one thing for me, Scott. Just please stay for breakfast.” 

Scott was hungry. He was still cold. And was beyond tired. So he sat down at the booth again, and let Olive study him. She was never intrusive with her gaze, more like surveying an injury, but even still he couldn’t stop shaking. Olive leaned closer, whispering that she’d be back in a minute before hopping up and passing the little door with the bell. After a few minutes the bell chimed as she made her way back to the table with a bundle in her hands. She offered the bundle to Scott who took it hesitantly, he looked the little pile over; It was a Beacon Hills Hoodie, T-shirt, and Sweats.

“Oh… I couldn’t take these from you.” He was starting to sound more like himself.

“Scott, I’m pretty sure the clothes you’re wearing are stiff like cardboard. Trust me on this.” She gently pressed the garments into his hands and walked around the counter to retrieve the ever full coffee pot for table six.

After she rounded the corner, Scott decided to let her win this once and slipped to the men’s room to change.  When he was finished, he walked back to the table to find Octavia building a wall out of creamer packets. She looked up at him after strategically placing the last little cup on the tower, and smiled.

“That’s a good look for you.”

“Yeah, okay very funny. I thought you said there was food at this restaurant.” He teased.

“Aha! So you are hungry! Don’t worry, Munchies, I’ll get you your fix.”


End file.
